


Where My Demons Hide

by rejectnormal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Demon Castiel, Demon!Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Season/Series 10, Sexual Tension, some blood and violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4658805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rejectnormal/pseuds/rejectnormal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel still has all the powers that come with being an angel, but something is wrong. Something is off. Dean doesn't know what to do when he sees those blue eyes flash to black and Sam's even more lost than he is. But now, at least, Dean knows what it is like to be a demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood on My Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the tumblr silentwarbler, which is a sideblog of potatophantom74.

Blood dripped from Castiel’s lip onto Dean’s bruised face, Castiel smirking right through it. His knee pushed into Dean’s crotch painfully, making him groan, struggling again to get away from the fallen angel tearing him apart.

“This isn’t you, Cas!” Dean shouted at him. “I know it isn’t. Snap out of it.”

“No no no, Dean,” Castiel said, leaning closer to Dean and purring the words to him. “That’s the difference. This time, it is me.”

Dean caught the silver glint of an angel blade slipping into Castiel’s grip and braced himself for the worst. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“ARGH!”

Castiel yelled at he was kicked off of Dean, Sam’s boot colliding directly with the side of his head. Sam pulled Dean up roughly and the brothers stood next to each other, Dean hunched and beaten, but now with a blade in his hand, Sam by his side with an angel blade and a flask of holy water.

Castiel stood before them as though nothing had happened, titling his head to the side and laughing darkly at the two of them.

“The Winchesters. Always the Winchesters, upset every time I don’t answer to their beck and call. Whenever I get tired of being their bitch. How many times have I had to put the two of you back together now? It’s time I get to tear you apart.”

“Cas, let’s talk. Something is obviously going on. Who’s making you do this, we can hel–”

Castiel cut Sam off with a flick of his wrist, Sam flying across the room and colliding with the wall where he fell in a slump.

“SAM!” Dean shouted, receiving no response. “Cas, I don’t want to hurt you. You’re family, man. You always have been.”

Castiel laughed again. “You seriously think I need a ‘family’?” For just a moment, he flashed pure black eyes at Dean, then vanished in a rush of air.

Dean fell to his knees, overcome with exhaustion and shock. Could an angel also become a demon? He thought that was impossible. And how? After all they had been through with the Mark of Cain, now the same thing was happening to Cas?

“Sam, Sammy. Come on, man. You’ve had worse. Shake it off.” Dean kneeled next to Sam, gently pushing him upright and waiting for Sam to start to regain consciousness.

“Ugh, Dean?” Sam rubbed his head, eyes squinting with the pain.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me. Cas is gone. What year is it?”

“2015?”

“Good. Tell me where we are.”

“Um, the bunker. Kansas.”

“Who’s the president?”

“Hopefully not Donald Trump.”

Dean patted Sam on the back and the two helped each other up now that Dean was pretty sure Sam didn’t have a concussion. Sam checked on a cut Dean had above his eye and decided it wouldn’t require stitches.

“What happened with Cas? Where did he go?” Sam asked as they stumbled towards the bathroom to tend to injuries.

“Sam…” Dean rubbed his temples tiredly, face filled with concern. “Cas is demon.”

“What?” Sam’s voice was pure disbelief. “There’s no way he can be a demon. He’s an angel, Dean. Maybe the other angels are controlling him again or something, like that time with Naomi.”

“I saw his eyes, Sam.”

Sam fell silent. When he looked at Dean’s eyes, he looked broken. Like any hope had fled because they’d lost Cas.

“We’ve cured demons before. We’ll do it again.” Sam tried to sound confident.

“He also still has his angel powers. He flew out of here just like he always has. He said he’s done with us.”

Sam stared at Dean for a long moment, debating whether or not to ask the question running through his head. Hesistantly, he said, “Do you remember what it was like being a demon?”

Dean let out a long breath before he answered, rubbing dirt and blood off his knuckles in the sink. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and said, “Yeah, I do.”

“Any idea what Cas is thinking right now? Why he came after you?”

Dean started picking at the dirt under his nails, not looking at Sam. “He’s thinking there’s not a damn thing holding him down anymore. That he can do whatever he wants, fuck whoever he wants, kill whoever he wants. He still has a soul… but, it’s warped. I don’t know with him also being an angel and all how that works, but with me? If someone was in my way and I wanted them gone…” he trailed off, still staring at his hands.

“But why does he think you’re in his way? He’s got the powers of an angel and a demon now, why come back here?” Sam asked, pressing Dean for explanation.

Dean just shrugged, grabbed a towel off a pile on the floor and dried his hands and face, cleaning away the fresh blood on his forehead. 

“I don’t know.”


	2. Diseased

Dean’s hands ran over the clean silver on the side of his gun. He breathed deeply, letting the smell of gun oil in the air calm his nerves. He started reassembling the weapon, the movements automatic after so many years of doing exactly this.

He washed demon blood off of the blades, his own blood off of a pocket knife, angel blood out of his shirts. He let all of it stain his hands, sink in, become a part of him.

There was a quiet knock on the door before Sam’s head appeared in the doorway. He took in the shining arsenal in front of Dean on the bed, the shadows under his eyes.

“Can we talk?” Sam asked, sitting down in the wooden desk chair Dean kept in the room. He took Dean’s grunt as agreement and said, “Did Cas say anything before he vanished? After I got knocked out.”

Dean clicked a gun back into places harder than necessary. He didn’t look up, “Yeah, he basically told us both to fuck off.”

“Anything more specific than that? Anything that could hint to where he might be?”

“What the fuck do you want from me, Sam?” Dean slammed a gun down on the bed with a soft thump and looked at his brother. “He said he doesn’t need us, and he left. Everything that came out of his mouth? Pure, unfiltered Castiel. And I say we should leave him be. If he starts killing people, we’ll know about it. Let Heaven deal with his sorry ass.” Dean bit his into his cheek, trying to crush the pain bubbling in his chest with his own words. Maybe Cas didn’t see the Winchesters as being his family, but it still felt as bad as it would have kicking Bobby or Charlie or even Sam out of his life.

“He isn’t Cas,” Sam said. “You can’t trust the things he said.”

“That’s the thing, Sam.” Dean’s voice grew quieter. “He  _is_ himself. Becoming a demon doesn’t change who you are. Everything I did while I was under the control of the Mark? That was still me. Parts of you get... amplified. Exaggerated, maybe. But you don’t become a new person. He wasn’t possessed. This is Cas without a filter.”

Sam was silent for a long time. Dean started moving things off the bed, putting away oil and polish and used towels, ignoring Sam’s presence. He froze when he heard Sam ask, “Do you blame me for the things I did when I was soulless?”

Dean looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Of course not. It was my fault you were like that anyway, I can’t–”

“No, stop putting the blame on you. You don’t blame me for being alive for a year and not telling you, or sleeping with someone while you were abducted by fairies, or anything else that happened back then?”

“No, you weren’t you.”

“But I was, Dean. No one else was controlling my body. Underneath my soul, what was left, was me with no filter. Without my morals. How is that different from being a demon? You just said I wasn’t myself without my soul. Cas’s soul is... damaged. Burnt, even. If a person has depression, you don’t blame them for being sad or not wanting to do somethings. You help them, they get better. They are themselves, but with something changing how they think that they can’t control. It changes you. There’s a reason we have souls. Cas needs our help, Dean. We didn’t let you stay a demon. You didn’t let me stay soulless. I’m not letting you give up on him.”

Dean let out a long breath, leaning on the edge of the bed and looking at his brother and his damn earnest look. Sam was right, he knew it, but that didn’t change the hurt. They hadn’t seen Cas in so long that he managed to become a demon and they have no idea how or why or if they can even cure an angel of being a demon. He was a walking contradiction. And unfiltered Cas had the uncanny ability to say the things that stabbed into Dean like no knife ever had.

He didn’t say any of this to Sam, instead saying, “Any idea how to go about finding him?”

Sam perked up at this and went into hunting mode. “Until he starts killing people or causing other damage, I don’t think there’s a way to track him because he can still fly. But I was thinking we could pray to one of the other angels, Hannah maybe, and see if they know how to find him and if they know how to cure him.”

“Any idea how this is even possible?” Dean asked.

“I’ve been looking into all the angel and demon lore we have, but I haven’t found anything saying that an angel has ever become a demon, or the other way around. The closest thing is Lucifer, but even he’s an angel that turned against humanity, not a demon.”

“Leave it to Cas to do the impossible,” Dean sighed. “Maybe this is like the time that the Leviathans were controlling him. Maybe something got into him, something demonic, that’s attached itself to him and is twisting him or his will. Like the Mark of Cain made me have to kill, there could be a mark or some kind of possession happening to him.”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to figure any of that out until we find him,” Sam said, standing up. “I’m going to keep looking just in case, but tomorrow we should see if we can find a way to contact Heaven.”

Dean nodded and went back to removing the weapons from his bedspread once Sam walked back off down the hall. It was late and he was dead tired. The kind of tired that seeps into your bones from overthinking and stress in a way that no amount of fighting or exercise ever could. He stripped down to boxers and crawled into bed, focusing on the feeling of his body sinking into the memory foam until he drifted off to sleep.

~

It was dark and silent in the bunker, the lack of any kind of movement or light telling his brain it had to be deep into the night, Sam long since asleep. He pushed his head further into his pillow, shut his eyes tight and went to fell back to sleep.

“Don’t move.”

Dean almost jumped, hand tightening around the gun under his pillow. Cas’s voice was inches away from his ear and as Dean came took in the situation he could feel Cas on top of him, pinning his arms and legs down, leaving over him to whisper into the back of his neck.

“You’re never going to find me, Dean,” he hissed. “I’m everything, and you’re a silly little human, begging to me on hand and knee for help and calling it prayer.”

Dean tried to open his mouth to say something, but he found he couldn’t open his mouth. He started to panic, tried to shake himself out of Castiel’s hold, but an unmoveable weight had taken over his body. He was completely vulnerable, couldn’t even call Sam for help.

Dean’s shock grew even deeper as Cas got even closer to him and bit his earlobe gently, confusing Dean’s body with the need to move and unexpected arousal. Cas released his ear and Dean flexed his fingers, realizing he was getting control of his body back. Castiel spoke directly into his ear, then disappeared as Dean rolled over and pointed his gun where he had been. Castiel’s words floated through Dean’s head as he tried to breathe again, wiped sweat off his forehead.

“I see what you meant now, Dean.  _I like the disease_.”

Dean woke up to the smell of coffee and the distant sound of Sam’s footsteps. He was in the same position he had fallen asleep in. He checked under the pillow and found the handgun unmoved. He brought a hand up to touch his ear where Cas had nibbled on him, feeling tingles run through it at the thought. It was a dream. Dean couldn’t find any reason to believe Castiel had actually been in his room last night, not even dried sweat on him from the panicked encounter.

But Dean knew Cas had still been there. It wasn’t the first time the angel had come to him in his dreams.


	3. On a Prayer

Castiel sat atop of a mountain that look over a deep forest, the lights of civilization sparkling on the horizon. He looked down at the fracturing skin on the back of his hands, rubbed his hands over where the forces inside this vessel were starting to tear the last of his humanity apart. 

The battle inside his mind had turned into white noise, not all too different from when he had taken on Sam’s insanity after being trapped with the devil. Except now he wasn’t confused, or “useless.” He didn’t feel like a rebellious angel, a failure of a human, or even “evil”. All he felt was power, grace mixing with demon blood, swirling inside of him until he couldn’t remember who the old Castiel was, or how this happened.

He looked out at the world where he had fallen, where he had fallen in love with humanity, where he’d been hurt countless times and done a lot of hurting too. 

Right now there was only one person he wanted to hurt. Dean Winchester.

The Winchester’s had left him to die so many times. Out in the cold, out of mind. Dean Winchester was the source of every bit of pain Castiel had suffered. The Righteous Man, a slave driver, taking Castiel’s faith in him and abusing it until there was nothing left.

Castiel doesn’t remember how he got like this, where he last was, he only knows the need to tear Dean apart and start anew.

He looked out over the horizon again, at all the stars people can’t see because of the way they pollute everything, and realized, why wait?

He vanished with a flash, a leaf blowing through where he once was.

~

It felt like he was suffocating from every angle, suddenly the air pushing at him and trying to keep him in place. Castiel looked around himself frantically.

Above and below him were devil’s traps, the floor around him surrounded by a circle of holy fire, rings of salt and holy water. He even smelled borax, spells of some kind, and maybe even sage in the air.

Sam and Dean stood before him, lit by the holy fire, armed with angel blades and rifles. Dean threw a pair of handcuffs at him that he caught with a grimace. Standing here hurt, radiating pain that made his eyes squint and fists clench, his soul fighting against his body.

“Either you put them on, or we do it for you. And trust me when I say you don’t want me to do it for you.”

“Dean Winchester, tying me up?” Cas let out a pained laugh. “I think you got that fantasy turned around a little.”

Dean shot a salt round into Castiel’s shoulder, making him shout out and drop to his knees. Sam threw some kind of potion at him that exploded over his head and he fell unconscious.

~

Castiel woke up and the world was still on fire. He tried to move, found his hands locked behind him with sigils made for binding angel and demon alike. Dean was pacing in front of him, doing that thing where he ran his hands across his jaw that he always did when he was feeling conflicted.

“Having a bad day, sunshine?” Cas shouted over to him.

Dean looked over at him for a second, the went back to pacing. Castiel rolled his eyes, waiting to find out what stupid plan the Winchesters had come up with this time to try to “save” him. Castiel couldn’t feel a difference in himself anymore. This was him, pure and whole, the universe in a single vessel. Nothing two humans could ever do would change that.

Castiel watched confusedly as Dean turned on his heel and marched out of the room, slamming the heavy metal door behind him and leaving him alone. Cas pulled at his restraints, felt his skin burning underneath them, pieces of skin falling into ashes beneath him.

“Any ideas?” Dean asked Sam for the hundredth time.

Sam slammed his book shut and glared at his brother. “No, Dean. Just the same one I’ve already given you. Call Crowley.”

“Since when do you trust Crowley?” Dean asked. “You seriously want me to call him and ask for  _help_?  _Again_?”

“At this point, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to kill us,” Sam said. “And who knows demons better than the King of Hell? Maybe he knows how this happened to Cas, or at least how we can fix it.”

Dean’s phone was half out of his pocket when the brothers turned in unison at the sound of a familiar voice saying, “Hello, boys.”

“How the hell did you get in here?!” Sam shouted, gun already pointed at Crowley more out of instinct than anything.

“Seems someone has been messing with your wards, boys. Might want to check that looked at,” Crowley said. “I hear you boys are having some angel trouble?”

Dean was already tucking his gun back into his belt. “More like we have a demon problem.”

“One of mine? I don’t remember telling anyone to take dear ol’ Cas, but I can certa–”

“He  _is_  a demon,” Dean interrupted. 

Crowley’s eyes widened. He let out a long breath, hand scratching at his perpetual scruff. 

“Now that’s a new one,” he said.

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Sam sighed. 

“How did this happen?!” Crowley demanded, shock clear in his voice. “He’s an  _angel_. His kind and our kind don’t mix.”

“Still not hearing anything we don’t know,” Dean said. “So this has never happened before?”

“Not that I can recall,” Crowley said. “Fallen angels, sure. A demon that goes rogue? Of course. Not this. But, since when has Castiel ever followed the rules?”

“Is there anything you can tell us? At all?” Sam pressed.

Crowley thought for a moment. “Souls are tricky business, Moose. Human souls are the simplest. Picture it like a small crystal ball. Not very hard to pick up or trade for something else, easily broken. Demon souls are the closest to human. They’re basically human souls turned into smoke a dust; the color is drained out, you’re left with something easily moved but also easily blown away. Angel’s souls are different. They are basically their entire being, harder to hold onto or change. It all kind of blends into... light and colors. Your average angel is anywhere from a pink lightning storm to a walking rainbow and they very rarely change. As ever present as the sun.”

“You said angel’s souls do rarely change,” Dean pointed out. “Change how?”

Crowley sighed. “Depends on the circumstances. Biggest one to change was Lucifer, who found a way to mutilate his soul out of God’s image and control until it was something so twisted and dark, almost nothing could stop it. Then there’s angels like Anna or Castiel, who’s souls start to look more human even more they fall. They aren’t human, but the color shifts. It becomes more focused, almost tangible. Almost like cloth.”

“Can you see souls?” Sam asked.

“I can if I chose to,” Crowley replied. “Dean over there has had his soul poked at so many times, it’s almost like it has cracks running through it. It’s has been stressed to the point of almost breaking. The Mark of Cain filled those gaps before, spread out a demon’s colors into his human soul. Yours, Moose, is burnt around the edges. Holding up just fine though.”

The brothers were silent for a long moment, as if they were trying to feel the damage in their own souls. They looked at each other, communicating silently before Sam turned back to Crowley.

“Can you look at Cas’s soul?” he asked. “Maybe if you can see what’s wrong with it, we can figure out how to get it back to how it should be.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and vanished. He was only gone for a few seconds before he was back, bending over and gripping his knees, trying not to be sick.

“Well?” Dean asked, rushing towards him. “What did it look like?”

“You’ve got a big problem on your hands.”


	4. Drinking Deep

"That was..." Crowley looked ill again for the moment. "Our 'angel' in there is an abomination. His soul isn't demon or angel, it isn't even human."

"What did it look like?" Sam pressed.

"The best way I can describe it is darkness, and tentacles. Like his soul has become its own entity and it is made our of pain and darkness and blood."

"I don't suppose you know how to fix it?" Dean said.

"You're on your own for this one, boys." With that Crowley vanished again.

~

Castiel spit in Dean’s face as he leaned closer to him, pulled against his restraints again and didn’t feel any pain as the skin around his wrists continued to peel away. The holy fire had been put out, but the dungeon still smelled of smoke, oils, borax, and sweat making the air thick.

Dean wiped off his face without blinking. His voice was tired, deeper and shattered from hours of asking the same questions. He asked again.

“How did this happen to you, Cas? Answer me!”

“Are you hard of hearing, Winchester?” Castiel growled back at him. “This is me. The way I was always supposed to be.”

Dean slapped Castiel with the back of his hand as a release of frustration even though he knew it wouldn’t do anything. He stomped back out of the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Castiel alone in the dark again, anger growing and vessel cracking more every hour.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Dean said to Sam, upstairs in the kitchen. Sam handed him a cup off coffee that he poured a shot or two of whiskey into instead of cream. Sam went back to stirring a large pot on the stove that smelled strongly of herbs. “Have you been able to contact heaven?”

“No, no one is answering,” Sam replied. “Our main connection to any of the angels was Cas, and I don’t think most of them are keen to hear from us anyway.”

Dean nodded and drank half his coffee in one long swallow. He came over to the stove and looked into the pot Sam was watching over, which looked like some kind of strange tea.

“Whatcha cookin’, Sammy? I can make us something later if you want.” Dean picked up a spoon to stir the liquid and Sam slapped it out of his hand before it could reach the pot.

“Don’t do that,” Sam snapped.

“Okay, Betty Crocker.” Dean put his hands up, looking affronted. “Seriously, what is that?”

Sam rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I found something in one of the books in the library, a kind of seance.”

“More magic stuff?” Dean asked, furrowing his brow. “You aren’t turning into a witch on me, are you?”

Sam huffed. “No, Dean. But this might be able to help us figure out what happened to Cas.”

“Okay, how?”

“I found a kind of spell that will let us into Cas’s head to search his memories. He might not think there’s anything wrong with him, but we know better. If we can access his memory and find out what happened, then we’re one step closer to figuring out how to undo it.”

“That sounds shockingly easy,” Dean said.

“Yeah, not really. First of all, the three of us need to drink  _this_ ,” Sam gestured to the pot, “and then we have to actually find the memory. From what the book says, it sounds almost like trying to travel in heaven. It’s easy to get lost. We’re going to have to go through memories until we find the right one, and Cas’s subconscious is going to be fighting us the whole way. Chances are he’ll be trying to send us in the wrong directions.”

“Alright, but how do we get out of there once we’ve got what we need?”

“That’s actually the easy part. It only lasts for an hour and then we get immediately pushed out of Cas’s mind. We only have one shot to get this right. After that, there will be defenses built up to keep us out. Almost like antibodies.”

“Bitchin’.” Dean finished off his coffee and put down the cup with a heavy clink on the counter. He cracked his knuckles. “Let’s do it, then.”

Sam laughed at him. “This isn’t going to be done until 3 am, Dean. We’re not going anywhere for a while.”

Dean deflated. He clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Have fun then, Martha Stewart. Tell me when it’s done.”

Dean marched out of the room and down the hall to the garage, where Sam expected he would give the Impala and long wash and then end up falling asleep in the backseat. He sprinkled something silvery into the pot and stirred it three time counterclockwise and looked at his watch. He was going to be standing here for awhile. 

~

“DEAN!” Sam banged on the roof of the Impala and watched Dean startle awake in the backseat, nearly banging his head in the process.

Dean frowned and pulled the cleaning rag off the side of his face that had attached itself while he was sleeping. 

“Dammit, Sam,” he muttered.

“Yeah, yeah, been hearing it for 20 years. Get up, the stuff for the ritual is ready.”

Dean crawled out of the car and followed Sam into the kitchen were there were three glasses of a sludge-like drink lined up on the table. He made a face at it.

“Is that what it’s supposed to look like?” he asked.

Sam picked up a glass and sloshed it around a little. “I think so.”

“Just... drink it?”

“Yup. The third glass is for Cas, it’s a little bit different. There’s some latin I have to read after he drinks it, then we both need to touch him and it’s game on.”

Dean raised his glass to Sam, who did the same and the two titled their heads back and drained their glasses in unison.

“That tastes like ass,” Dean coughed, eyes watering.

Sam gulped hard and leaned over the counter. “Ugh. How do you know what ass tastes like?”

Dean just raised an eyebrow and smirked at Sam, who retched again and yelled at him. Dean picked up the last glass and headed out of the room, Sam trailing after him.

Castiel blinked in the sudden light, eyes adjusting until the blurred silhouettes became the familiar forms of the Winchesters.

“You,” Dean pointed at him, “are going to drink this.” He held up the glass and Castiel stared at him.

“Not thirsty, thanks.”

“Don’t care.”

Dean pushed Castiel’s head back roughly and Sam held his nose as Dean poured the potion down his throat. Dean held his hand over Castiel’s mouth until he saw him swallow, then they let him go.

Castiel licked his lips and grimaced. “Why did that taste like ass?”

Dean held back a laugh and Sam glared at him. Sam brought over two chairs and put them in front of Cas. It was time to start.


	5. Blast from the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a scene added to the very beginning of the last chapter because I realized I didn't finish what happened with Crowley, so go back and read that if you want to.

Dean’s hand was sweaty as it clasped onto Castiel’s arm, the muscle twitching involuntarily beneath his touch. Sam held onto his other arm and reached to Dean with the other. The brothers clasped each others’ forearms and Dean closed his eyes as Sam started to recite something in latin.

“ _Cogitationes veritum revelabit nobus memoria oblitus. Fossa humo operui tenebris mendacium responsum praeter dues._ ”

Dean felt a tugging at his chest like a rope was pulling at him. He squeezed his eyes tighter, gave into the pulling, felt his head get dizzier like he was passing out. Next thing he knew, he was waking up with fresh spring grass tickling his knows, Sam laying next to him.

Dean stood up slowly, helping Sam up as well.

“Where the hell are we?” Sam asked, looking around. They appeared to be in an empty field near a park, a light breeze blowing at the grass and trees. Everything smelt like pure air. It was shockingly peaceful.

“Is this it?” Dean asked. “Are we in his memories?”

“We must be,” Sam said. “This must be some kind of default memory, something that he remembers really well.”

 

Dean looked around too, trying to find anything that could tell him how this place was at all important to Cas. He picked up a kite alone on the ground nearby, the string cut from it. He held it up to Sam who shrugged at him, so Dean dropped it.

“How do we get out of here?” Dean asked. “I don’t see any roads to follow like in Heaven.”

“I think we have to travel via thought,” Sam said. “Use our memories to try and get through Cas’s. If we can get close to when he became a demon, we should be able to find it from there. When was the last time we saw Cas?”

“He stopped by in Alabama,” Dean said. “About a month ago, when we were tracking a wendigo.”

All of a sudden the world swirled around them, turning into colors and masses that made Dean’s head spin. Slowly, the world started to reform around them and they were in the motel from Alabama, just outside of Dean’s room. Dean jumped as he turned and saw what looked like a ghost of Castiel, standing outside and leaning on the Impala’s door, an imprint of where he must have been when this memory occurred. He was staring at the closed window of the motel room, clearly watching something Dean couldn’t see. He walked closer to the window and peeked in through a crack in the curtain and saw himself, sitting on the end of the bed in boxers, rubbing at a stain in his jeans. Sam said something to him through the bathroom door.

“How long was he out here?” Dean asked Sam, watching Castiel still standing at the car. “He’s just... watching.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I don’t remember him showing up until almost dark, maybe he was there the whole time.”

Dean squinted at the Castiel shadow, getting closer until Sam tapped him on the shoulder.

“We should go, Dean. We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Where do we go from here? Did Cas say where he was going? We were going home–”

The world started spinning around them again, Sam and Dean trying to keep their balance in the confusion until everything reformed. They were in a forest, near the edge of a river. It looked like twilight and there were noises in the distance that made you want to keep checking over your shoulder.

“Where are we?” Sam asked.

Dean watched as Castiel’s form appeared again by the river, crusted over with dirt and unshaven. “Purgatory.”

“This is Purgatory?” Sam asked quietly. He grew silent as he turned and saw Benny standing just behind them.

Dean watched himself embracing Castiel near the water, touching his face. He remembered the relief when he finally laid eyes on him that day, when he’d finally found his angel again.

“How did we get here?” Dean asked roughly, turning away from the people in the memory.

“Something we said must have sent us here,” Sam said. “Castiel’s subconscious is trying to mislead us. We have to be careful. I think anything we say that is strongly connected with a memory will send us in the wrong direction.”

“ _We’re going home_.”

Dean shook his head, trying to get out of his own memories of Purgatory. He thought back to the last time they saw Cas.

“He was going to check on Jimmy’s daughter,” he remembered. “He said he needed to see Claire and took off.”

Purgatory dissolved around them at Dean’s words and they found themselves in a dinner, Castiel’s shadow sitting across from Claire. There were large stacks of pancakes, waffles, and bacon around them, Castiel’s fork untouched and Claire working her way around the table. Dean almost smiled seeing the look on Castiel’s face watching her, like she really was his daughter. That was Cas. Loving people, no matter what.

“I don’t know if we’re close enough to get anywhere yet,” Sam said. “This could have been the same day we last saw him.”

“Where were we?” Dean questioned.

“Probably shopping. We stopped at that mall on our way out of town.”

“Oh yeah, you spilled an entire red icee on me. Yeah, thanks for that,” Dean said sarcastically.

The world spun around them again, landing Sam and Dean in a familar looking barn covered in sigils and wards, Dean and Bobby standing inside of it looking at a frazzled looking Castiel standing in front of a door blown off it’s hinges.

_“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”_

_“Yeah. thanks for that.”  
_

“I think we’ve been blown off course again, Sammy.” Dean muttered.


	6. Revelations

Dean’s knife punched into Castiel’s chest and he didn’t even flinch, just pulled it out and dropped it to the hay-strewn floor beneath him. 

“Shoot first, ask questions later?” Sam critiqued, watching the scene before them. Dean shrugged, turned away from the action.

“Okay, so he was with Claire at a dinner,” the scene shifted back to where they had been, “and then...” Dean raised his hands and stared at Sam who gave him a look that meant “you expect me to know?”

This wasn’t getting any easier. Dean tried to picture Castiel on his own, where he would go and what he was doing in the sometimes long spans of time that the Winchesters didn’t see him. Heaven? Maybe, but not likely. And there was very little chance that any of the angels were involved in this. Maybe they didn’t need to know a location, just enough aspects to get them back. Like Claire and pancakes.

“Evil, darkness, blood,” Dean started listing to the sky. “Demons, pain, torture–”

“Dean, what are you doing?”

“Shut up, Sam– demon blood, um... hell, hell hounds—”

The scene suddenly started to shift around them again, making Sam jump and move slightly closer to Dean.

“How did you do that?”

“I don’t know if I did anything,” Dean said, trying to see where they were before the world was done spinning. “I just started listing things that might be involved in the memory, hoped something would get us close enough.”

“Not bad,” Sam said and patted Dean on the shoulder. Dean smacked him in the arm and pointed. They were in a swank hotel room, clean and untouched, Castiel unconscious in a dining chair in the middle of the room. His skin was pale and grey and an IV was attached to his arm, slowly dripping something into his veins.

“What the hell...” Dean moved closer to Castiel. He didn’t look like he had been in a fight, no bruises or blood. Yet here he was, knocked out and possibly getting drugged. What the hell was going on?

Sam moved closer to Cas too, checking out the IV bag and set up.

“Dean,” he said quietly. “This is demon blood.”

“You sure?”

“Trust me,” Sam swallowed heavily. “I’m sure.”

The sound of heels on the hardwood floors made Sam and Dean jump, turning around to see a woman walking into the room in black pointed shoes, a tight fitting dress, hair falling down past her shoulders. They froze watching her walk closer and smile at Castiel, who stirred slightly when she ran a smooth fingernail down the line of his jaw.

“Looking good there, angel,” the familiar voice said, lilting with pride. “We’ll make a monster of you yet.”

She flicked the IV bag, checking how full it was. There was a small mark on her arm in the same place where the needle was stuck into Castiel now.

“Bela,” Dean breathed.

~

“I can’t fucking believe this!” Dean yelled. The memory of Bela had left the room and the memory itself was becoming hazy, like the room was filled with fog. “Bela! Bela fucking Talbot is a demon and she’s fucking with Cas!”

“How does she even know who he is?!” Sam ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Is this about us? She was crafty as a human, makes sense she’s even better as a demon, but what the fuck? How is she back?”

“I’ll kill that fucking bitch. I’ll kill her as many times as I have to. I don’t care how she’s back. I want her gone.”

“I think I can help you with that one, boys.”

The deep voice echoed around them, leaving them searching the room for the source. Next thing they knew, the floor came up under them and everything went black.

When they opened their eyes again, they were sitting across from Castiel in the dungeon again, Crowley leaning over his shoulders.

“Crowley,” Sam growled. “What do you know about a demon named Bela Talbot?”

“I saw the memory, Sam,” Crowley said, looking displeased. “She’s not acting under my orders, I hardly know the bitch. Have to say, I do admire her work though.” He touched Castiel’s face gently. Castiel was starting to wake up the same as the Winchesters had, feebly struggling to get away from Crowley’s hands.

“Why is everyone touching me?” he growled.

Sam and Dean pulled their hands away and looked back to Crowley, who gestured for them to follow him out of the room, all ignoring anything Castiel yelled after them.

“If you saw what we did, then explain,” Sam said. “What do you know?”

“I think this is Abaddon’s work,” Crowley told him, ignoring their confused looks and shouted arguments. “This reeks of something she would have planned. One of her servants must be quite a bit behind schedule. How she captured ol’ Castiel here is anyone’s guess, but my guess is she was working on him for weeks.”

“He was being filled with demon blood for that long?” Dean asked, still trying to take all this in.

“That wasn’t just demon blood, Deano. Couldn’t you smell it? She had some of Death’s blood mixed in there.”

Dean’s stomach dropped and his hearing became white fuzz. Death. Blood from one of the horsemen. They should have known blood from something that powerful could have some kind of evil properties. Somehow Bela had gotten her hands on some of it and used it to turn Cas into... whatever he was now.

“Dean? Dean!”

Sam’s voice broke through the fog and Dean slowly started to focus on the world around him again, his knees unsteady. Sam was grabbing his arm, keeping him balanced.

“How do we fix him?” Dean asked Crowley, ignoring Sam’s worried look. 

Crowley merely shrugged. “You two are the ones who figured out how to cure a demon, you’ll figure something out. But there is one thing I can help you with. Bela. If there are demons around still working out Abaddon’s orders, I need them gone. I’ll get all of my men on tracking her down.”

“Bring her here,” Dean said. “I want to do it.”

Crowley nodded. “As long as I get to watch.”


	7. Splitting Seams

With Crowley on the hunt for Bela, the Winchesters got to work on healing Castiel. The only problem was how. Turning a demon back into a person was a matter of human blood, but Castiel wasn’t human. Angel’s have grace.

“We don’t exactly have a large supply of grace lying around,” Sam said, poking at the eggs Dean cooked for breakfast. Dean sat down and started covering his in hot sauce, stuffing his face while he thought.

“Okay, so we need to get our hands on some grace,” Dean pondered out-loud. “Heaven isn’t really answering. We try to talk to Bobby again?”

“He’s probably tired of hearing from us by now,” Sam pointed out. “He is dead and we still keep asking him for help.”

“What, then? Kill an angel?” Dean folded a piece of toast around stack of bacon and bit into it.

“I thought of that too, but first we’d have to find one, and we’d have to find one that’s causing trouble or something. We can’t just kill a random angel and hope no one will notice.”

“Would it even work? Wasn’t Cas dying when he was trying to live on stolen grace?”

“I’m going to try to do some more research on this.” Sam rose, grabbing his plate and a cup off coffee. “Maybe see if you can get any more info out of Cas? Not an interrogation… play it cool?”

Dean nodded, sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “I can have a talk with him. See what happens. It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

Sam nodded and left the room, heading back to the archives to try and find any more information on angels or grace. Dean glared at the wall across from him, thinking. He was the last person Castiel wanted to have a casual talk with, but maybe he’ll let something slip that could help if he talks to him for a while? Dean slipped a bottle of holy water into his pocket, shoved a shotgun under his arm, and grabbed two cups of coffee before heading down into the dungeon.

~

Castiel rolled his eyes when Dean entered the room. He put down two cups off coffee on a table off to the side and dragged it in front of Castiel, bringing over a chair for himself. Dean held up the gun.

“We both know you’re not getting out of here. Traps are keeping you from poofing out of here. So. I’m going to untie your hands, you’re going to have a cup of coffee with me, and you’re not going to try anything. Got it?”

“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t eat for you to understand it?” Castiel snapped.

“Does it look like I care?” Dean unlocked Castiel’s shackles. When he pulled away, there was blood on his hands. He stared at it for a moment, but tried to act like he didn’t see it. He sat down and put his feet up on the table, taking one of the cups. He nodded towards the other. “Drink, or don’t. I don’t really care. But I’m still sticking around.”

“It would be like you to always be where you aren’t wanted or needed,” Castiel muttered. He made no move to take the coffee, just stared curiously at the skin missing on his wrists, the skin peeling up his arms.

“Why is your skin like that?” Dean asked, trying to sound casual.

“My vessel?” Castiel continued to look at his arms. “I expect this human skins is having trouble containing me. I’m not very concerned.”

“Your ‘vessel’ is breaking down? Like Lucifer?”

“Similar, yes. I am not the Devil, Dean.”

Dean threw a hand up in surrender. “Not saying you are.”

Dean watched Castiel fingers tapping impatiently around the cup and somehow it hit him as the most uncharacteristic thing he had seen him do so far. It’s not like the two of them haven’t almost killed each other before, but Cas's nervous ticks were usually more subtle, his anger more controlled, quiet but strong.

“What do you want?” Castiel spat at him.

Dean shrugged cooly. “Just hanging out with my friend, Cas.”

“You have a strange definition of friendship.” He scratched at the side of his face, part of the skin falling away in the process.

“How’s your grace holdin’ up?”

Castiel squinted at Dean, who continued looking casual. “Fine.”

“Does it just refill itself? Or is it more like Green Lantern, you have to recharge your ring sometimes?”

“Your grace is your own. It’s note a bottle of Gatorade you’re going to run out of. It does get stronger when connected to the Host.”

Dean nodded to himself. “Is stealing grace hard?”

“Not if you know how to do it.”

“And, how do you–”

Castiel flung his mug of hot coffee directly at Dean’s face with inhuman speed and Dean barely managed to dodge it.

“Already, time to lock up the mutt.” Dean took the keys to the shackles out of his pocket as Castiel started to lung across the table to tackle Dean. Dean pushed him back easily, locked him in again.

“Why was that so easy?” Dean demanded. “Why are you so weak?”

Castiel attempted to lung toward him again, pulling pointlessly against his restraints.

“CAS! What’s happening to you?!”

“Fuck off, Winchester.”

Dean backed off, watching Castiel struggle fruitlessly. He’d been able to wrestle him back into submission so easily. Castiel can lift a little ton without breaking a sweat, but now his skin was flaking away and Dean had been able to restrain him easily. The sigils should be keeping him here and binding some of his powers, but still, something was definitely wrong.

Dean entered the library and started sorting through the shelves, ignoring Sam’s confused look from across the room. He started flipping through anything that seemed relevant, sitting down across from Sam with arms full of books up to his chin.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“We need to work faster, Sam,” Dean said, not looking up from a book he had opened. “I think Cas is dying.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” Sam dove into research with renewed vigor, Dean across from him working just as hard. Castiel sat alone in the dark, fingers twitching again the arms of the chair, rolling his neck uncomfortably.

~

Bela sat in a high-backed desk chair, stroking a white cat curled up in her lap absentmindedly while listening to the phone pressed to her ear. The cat purred happily in the sunlight streaming in through the wall of windows in the home office.

“No no no, I promised it by the 18th, Fredrick,” she said firmly. “And the 18th you shall have it, pristine condition… Yes, I am shrewd by some standards, but even demons needs to eat… That’s what I thought. Good day, Fred.”

She hung up the phone and stood, holding the cat in her arms as she looked down at the world from her penthouse. So many tiny people, bursting with money and far too easy to get it from.

There was a loud knock on the front door. Bela spun around, eyes turning black for a moment in reaction to her panic as she heard the door getting kicked in. She placed the cat gently on the floor and pulled a revolver out of her desk, tucking a flashdrive into her bra just as the office door swung open, two men in suits trying to look threatening in the doorway.

“Are you Bela?” one of them asked.

“Who’s asking?” She flicked the aim of the gun back and forth between them.

“Crowley sent us.”

Bela dropped the gun, flinging herself towards the window and flying out into the street, leaving Crowley’s henchmen rushing over to the window only to find her already gone.

The cat watched on, licking its paw as it watched the chaos begin.


	8. Thicker Than Blood

“I really don’t think this is going to work, Dean,” Sam grunted, helping Dean carry a large box of supplies into the stairs towards the dungeon.

“I don’t think it’s gonna hurt him if we try,” Dean replied, dropping the stuff outside the door. His hand instinctually touched his arm where they had put a needle earlier to get some of his blood. So close to where the Mark of Cain had once resided. His fingers tightened around his arm.

“We know how to cure a demon and we know I might still have some of Cas’s grace in me from all the times he’s healed me. Maybe even from when he put me together after Hell. My blood is the only thing we’ve got right now.”

Sam pulled one of the small bottles of Dean’s blood out of the box and examined it. It looked like anyone else’s blood, but Winchester blood had been known to be stronger than ordinary before. It was worth trying.

“His body is already breaking down. If he reacts badly to this, it might make it worse,” Sam warned. 

Dean shrugged, digging through the box. They’d brought needles and IV’s, holy oil and water, even salt, just in case. Dean had even thrown in some cleaning supplies: washcloths, baby wipes, bandages, that kind of thing. He figured they would do the best they could to hold Cas together until he stopped ripping himself apart.

When the opened the door, Dean froze for just a moment. Castiel was barely conscious, sweat coating his face, skin flaking away, his eyes pure black whenever they flicked open. The room smell like fire. When they approached him, Dean saw blackness pushing up the veins in his arms.

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” Castiel panted. His head was down, too weak to hold it upright. His hands twitched and balled into fists when Sam gently touched his arm, but he couldn’t pull away more than that.

Sam held a syringe in his hand. He gave Dean an unsure look, but his hands didn’t shake when Dean nodded to him and he pressed the tip into Castiel’s vein.

Castiel howled as the last of Dean’s blood entered his vein, black eyes shooting out the light of grace, head thrown back. His nails dug into the arms of the chair and Sam backed away from him quickly as he shook, screams echoing around the room. Dean looked down and shut his eyes, fists shaking at his side and the closest thing to prayers running through his head.  _Let this work, please, let this work. I refuse to lose him. I won’t let it happen. Not again._ He had no idea who these prayers would even go to.

Castiel eventually stilled, passing out at his screaming stopped. The light of the grace shining through his eyes and under his skin dulled slightly, but he now had an aura of faint blue light.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, looking at Castiel. “This is good. I think. I think his grace is trying to fight back now. Like antibodies trying to fight a virus. Maybe your blood was the immune booster he needed.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean stared at Castiel, from the matted hair, to the glowing skin, to his blood staining his clothes. He sure as hell didn’t look any better. “We’ll give him more in a couple hours, see if anything changes.”

“Alright,” Sam replied. “Have you heard from Crowley yet?”

“Barely. Nothing good. Said his men found Bela, but she got away and now he has to track her down again. She seems to have gone back to her old tricks. She’s making money selling souls on the black market, along with weapons. Looks like she even had a couple angel blades to pawn.”

“Great,” Sam said sarcastically. “Exactly what we needed. How did she get the angel blades?”

“Not sure,” Dean said. “It looks like she’s been tracking down all kind of creatures and taking whatever she can get from them. Souls, blood, weapons, you name it.”

“Then why do this to Cas?” Sam asked. “Why not just take his grace and be done with it?”

“I don’t know, Sam.  Wish I did.”

~

Sam left Dean alone with Cas, not seeing a reason to stand around when the situation didn’t seem to be changing. Dean kneeled next to Cas, gently cleaning his skin with warm water, trying so hard not to cause more of it to break away or shred. He washed away dried blood and old skin, the sweat on his face, and other unidentified dirt and blood until his friend started to look... not normal, but better. Maybe not quite as bad. He wrapped bandages around his wrists where the most damage was, fingers gently moving around his arms until the raw open flesh was completely covered. It wouldn't help heal him, but maybe it would help it keep from getting worse. Dean started to wipe his own hands clean again.

“Dean?”

Dean jumped in suprise. He looked at Castiel’s face, who appeared to still be unconscious, but he knew he had heard his name fall from the angel’s cracked lips. 

“Cas, buddy? How you doing?”

“Dean,” was all Cas whispered. His eyes squeezed tighter shut, his teeth gritting together.

“Talk to me, man. What can I do?” Dean pressed his hand into Castiel’s knee, leaning closer to him. He pulled an eyelid open and wasn’t met with pure black this time, but the blue was still missing from his eyes. Dean sat back, waited, keeping his hand on Castiel to trying and keep him focused, to hold him there.

Castiel stopped moving again, eyes relaxing. Dean checked his breathing and it seemed steady enough, but his heart beat was fast. It almost reminded him of when Sam would catch a really bad flu when they were younger and Dean would wake up in the night to check and make sure he was still okay. He always had trouble sleeping until Sam was sleeping normally again, not shaking or heart racing.

“Alright, Cas, time for your meds,” he said, sitting back on his knees and picking up a syringe from the box they had nearby. He stopped right before putting the needle into Castiel’s skin and took his belt off, placing it between Castiel’s teeth. The metal pierced his skin and Castiel moaned deeply in his throat, teeth biting hard into the leather of Dean’s belt, legs shaking under Dean’s hand.

“Almost over, almost over,” Dean coaxed. He turned away as the last of his blood entered Castiel’s vein and the bright light of grace shot through the room for a moment before fading back into a glow. Dean examined Castiel’s arms, thinking the blackness was starting to shrink away, but not sure if it was true or just wishful thinking. He pushed Castiel’s hair away from his forehead and brushed his lips against the burning skin there.

“We gotta stop worrying each other like this,” he murmured into Castiel’s hairline. 


	9. Between the Gaps

Castiel’s head was thunder. Noise from every direction, ripping through him, making it impossible to think, his vessel filled with pain that extended beyond his limbs. His grace was weakened by the demon blood in his veins, the two fighting and colliding and trying to take over.

He was barely aware of a gentle touch along his arms, across his face, down his neck. It was barely there through the noise, but the humanness of it broke through the sound just enough to be noticed. Castiel’s subconscious tried to grab hold of the feeling, focus on it to drag Castiel back to some kind of reality, letting his human skin break the barrier between angel and demon. But then the touch slowly disappeared.

Dean’s name slipped past his lips. What other human would be dumb enough to touch him in this state?

A hand on his leg, fingers burning marks into his thigh, traveling up his spine and into the small corners of his brain. Dean’s touch begging him to wake up.

Everything went quiet as he felt a soft touch on his face, the kind of touch that tries to fix, like a parent kissing a child’s burnt fingertips.

~

Sam and Dean sat across from each other at the table in the kitchen. Sam rolled his eyes as Dean smothered the fresh waffles he made in syrup and took a bite so big the syrup rolled down his chin. Dean paid him no mention, eyes flicking across the pages of a newspaper as he chewed.

They had gotten in the habit of eating breakfast together every morning since they’d been staying in the bunker everyday, afraid to leave Castiel alone and still trying to cure him.

They couldn’t tell if anything they were doing was helping, but he didn’t seem to be getting any worse, either. Except for the fact he spent less and less time conscious. Sam hoped it was like when humans went into a coma. His body was shutting down to try and heal him from all the damage running through his veins.

Dean set the paper down as he noticed his phone buzzing on the table. He peered at the name on the screen.

“It’s Crowley,” he told Sam as he hit the answer button. Sam perked up, listening closely to try and make out what Crowley was saying.

Dean didn’t say much. He listened at the phone for a few minutes and hung up, a determined look on his face.

“Bela’s nearby,” he said, already standing up and throwing dishes into the sink haphazardly. “Crowley’s men seem to think she’s trying to track down her little science experiment we have in our basement, so we have to find her before she finds us.”

Sam was already pulling a coat over his shoulders. “Any idea how we’re doing to do that?”

“Nope.” Dean checked his pocket for his keys and then hurried towards the door, Sam right with him.

~

Dean glanced away from the road to check the address on his phone again. He check the business out the windows again, squinted at the address, and finally threw the phone down on the seat between him and Sam.

“I don’t get it,” he said, turning on his turn signal. “I’ve gone around this block six times now and I’m still not seeing a ‘565 Brubank’.”

“You’re sure that’s the right address?”

“Yes! Crowley confirmed it more than once. That’s the last place she was seen.”

“I have an idea. Park around the corner.”

Dean was skeptical, but pulled into a spot on the side of the road and followed his brother out of the car. Sam circled around the block again, peering down the tiny alleyway between 564 and 567 where the place they were looking for should be. 

“This doesn’t even look like Bela’s part of town,” Dean remarked. The buildings around them were old, falling apart. Trash lined the gutters and the busiest place around was the liquor store a block away. Much too low class for Bela’s swanky tastes.

“Maybe not,” Sam said and disappeared into the alleyway. Literally.

Dean looked down the dark street and circled on the spot. He had vanished completely. “SAM?”

Sam’s head poked out of nothingness and Dean found himself being pulled into the alley by the front of his shirt.

Except he had stumbled into the nicest club he had ever been in.

“Whaaaat the fuck,” he said, staring around them. Sam pulled them off into the shadows at the corner of the room. “This is some Harry Potter-type shit. Where are we?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. 

The two slid down into a table in the shadows, trying to blend in while watching the bar’s patrons closely. There was a long bar made of expensive, polished wood, one attractive male sitting at one of the stools, watching his whiskey instead of drinking it, a stocky bartender at the other end of the counter polishing silverware. Most of the booths around the edges of the room were occupied by 2-5 people. Sam noticed a familiar face across the room from them and nudged Dean with his elbow, pointing his gaze in the right direction.

The Bela they knew was sitting in the middle of a booth, two doting male demons on either side of her, waiting patiently as she flicked through a small black notebook.

“We’ve taken more than that,” Dean said, keeping his voice low. “Think we should go break up this party?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam said. “This place is crawling with demons, not just the ones over there.” Dean looked again, noticing black eyes on the man drinking at the bar, the bartender threatening a drunk patron with a silver spoon.

“Sounds like werewolves too, who knows what else. But what other plan do we have?”

“We hide out until she leaves, follow her, try and abuse her?”

“I’m not sure that–”

“My, you boys are losing your subtly in your old age, aren’t you?”

Bela’s voice made them both jump, turning to see her already leaning up against the edge of their table, a smirk on her face.

“While you don’t seem to be losing any of your looks after, what, a couple hundred years in hell?” Dean commented, trying to sound cool. He could see Sam gripping a knife under the table out of the corner of his eye as Bela’s face drew closer. “Preserved your body with lipstick?”

“I could say the same for you, yet here you are, all in one piece. The angel put you back together, why couldn’t the same happen for me?”

“What angel would waste their time saving you?” Dean spat.

“No angels here, darling.” She flashed her eyes at him. “I pulled myself out of this mess. Hell wasn’t nearly enough fun.”


	10. Figure It Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed a lot of similarities to Where My Demons Hide in the new episode (11x3), which was very exciting. Just writing this as a note that it was not at all on purpose, but I'm glad that parts of it were so similar because it must mean I'm staying somewhat true to character.
> 
> Also, I know this took forever. Deal with it, I work retail now.

"Let's talk somewhere private, shall we?" Bela didn't wait for a response, sauntering out a door behind the bar, Dean and Sam following close behind. She opened a door into an office and gestured for them to enter.

"Go into the dark room before you and get trapped?" Sam closed the door on her and crossed his arms. "We aren't new here, Bela."

"Well, that's news to me," she said. "Fine, I don't care. Stand in the dirty hallway for this conversation. I don't care why you're here, I want you gone, but first I'm going to make this worth my time. I know you boys have access to all kind of archives and ancient weaponry that plenty of people would pay good money to get their hands on. So, we can either do this the easy way, you handing over something that keeps me rolling in gold-laced sheets, and you live, or–" she flashed black eyes at them "–I can kill you and feed you to any of the vampires sitting out their waiting for their Bloody Marys."

"Or, how about this." Dean pushed her against the wall, one arm on the wall pining her in, his other hand pushing the tip of an angel blade into her naval, one good shove away from finishing her. "You tell us what the hell you did to the angel and maybe I kill you fast instead of slowly."

She laughed in his face. "You're forgetting, Dean, you're on my turf right now." She snapped her fingers and two large male demons appeared behind them in the hallway, blocking any way out. "You touch me and these boys over there will finish you and your brother before you can say 'ouch.' Or, you give me that blade and I'll tell you what I did to poor little Castiel, the world's most broken angel."

Dean clenched his jaw, readjusting his grip around the blade. Sam was close by, gun in hand, but not in a good position to make a move and get them out. Dean could end Bela right now and they could easily get past the two other demons, but the rest of the bar could be an issue. Besides, they needed Bela alive.

"Why come back, Bela? Still trying to get in my pants and took any path back to Earth to do it? Weather downstairs to hot for you?"

"I was sent here on a mission, darling, same as you. You're not the only 'righteous' one around these parts."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked behind them, gun still aimed on the men blocking the hallway.

"I mean, Samuel, that you'll get the story as soon as your brother turns that blade around and gives it to me. You know I don't go back on a deal."

Dean made eye contact with Sam, the two communicating silently. Sam turned his gun toward Bela as Dean handed her the blade, waiting while she looked it over, admired the way it shone in the light and testing the sharpness with the tip of her finger. Dean pushed her tighter against the wall as she went to move.

"What did you do to Cas?" he growled.

She smirked, moved her face close to him and he felt her breath across his lips. "I played with him. Fed him the blood of the damned until he couldn't remember why he'd ever tried to obey heaven or anyone else. I taught him to rebel against anyone holding him back and let him go once he decided the only thing he wanted in this world is you finally out of his way. He was going to be my body guard, something stronger than any demon had ever been, but the destruction was going to be much more fun. Getting you back for letting me die by the thing that saved you putting you right back downstairs? Icing."

She snapped her fingers again and the demons moved in, one grabbing Sam by the arm and the other pushing Dean away from Bela. Sam twisted fast, pushing the demons arm backwards and shoving the demon blade into his back, quickly moving his feet out of the way as the 200 lb body hit the floor in front of him. Dean spit holy water from a flash into the other demon's face and wrestled with him and Sam tried to sneak up behind Bela and place her in binding cuffs. He was met to a stilletto to the chest, staggering backwards as she spun the angel blade in her hand and swiftly lunged toward him. He quickly ducked under the blade and swung around under her arm, getting the handcuff around her other hand. He heard a yell as Dean finished off the other demon and helped him pushed Bela into the other cuff, hands behind her back at last.

Dean picked up the blade he had given her from where she had dropped it in the fight.

"Thanks, that belongs to a friend of mine," he said, tucking it back into his belt. "He wouldn't be happy with me if I didn't bring it back. Especially now that he's not a demon anymore."

Sam looked at Dean and raised his eyebrow and Dean shrugged. It wasn't totally a lie. Castiel was getting better... they hoped. His eyes weren't black anymore, but he also wasn't exactly the angel he should be.

~

Dean grunted under Castiel's weight, shifting him up in his arms as to not lose his grip. Sam held open the bedroom door for them as Dean carried Castiel in bridal-style and dropped him onto the bed. Dean wiped sweat off his forehead and huffed.

"He's burning up," he commented. "Like, 'higher than 104' kind of temperatures."

"I don't think we have to worry about brain damage with an angel," Sam said. "But it might mean that his body is almost done fighting the 'infection.'" He made air-quotes around the last word.

As if on cue, Castiel started to stir. He grimaced and slowly sat up, more than he'd been capable of for more than a week. With Bela locked up downstairs and Castiel no longer trying to kill them, they'd moved him into a bedroom to try and finish healing him. Dean came to Castiel's side immediately, placing a helping hand on his back to steady him and he rubbed hard at his forehead, Sam leaning close over the end of the bed.

"Dean? Sam?" he muttered, voice sounding ruff and dry.

"How you doin', Cas?" Dean asked, rubbing his thumb back and forth across his back.

"Better... I think." Cas shook his head. "It's hard to think anything, really."

"Do you think you still want to kill me?" Dean asked, half-joking.

Cas stared at him for a long moment. "No."

"Then I'd say we're heading in the right direction." Sam motioned for Dean to move out of the way and checked Castiel's pulse and felt his burning face. Dean noticed him casually wipe his forehead off with water that came from a bottle of holy water and Castiel didn't so much as flinch. A long exhale went through the room.

"How do you feel?" Sam asked.

"Everything is loud. Far too loud. And my grace is weak. It's trying to heal my vessel." Dean looked down at Castiel's arms, noticing the skin was actually starting to look stronger again, not falling off in large pieces and peeling away. It was still dead and cracked, but no blood was a good thing in Dean's books. Sam applied some salve and bandages from a first aid kit on the nightstand in the hopes it would help, then they left him to rest.

Dean left the door cracked on his way out. "Shout if you need anything," he told him. "Seriously, anything. We'll come running."

"Thank you, Dean."

"Don't worry about it, Cas." Dean slept with his door open as well, listening hard to every sound that came from Castiel's room next door, from the rustling of blankets to a small cough. He slept lightly that night, but the only thing Cas ever called for was a large glass of water the next morning and to be left alone until further notice.


	11. When I Was Weak

Dean knocked twice on the bedroom door before letting himself in, not waiting for an invitation. Castiel was laying stiff as a board on the bed, blankets still underneath him. Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel's mummified appearance.

Castiel's head turned as Dean's footsteps echoed around the quiet room. He watched as he pulled a chair over from the corner of the room and sat next to the bed. Dean's eyes flicked around Castiel's face, assessing the damage. His eyes weren't black, and he wasn't drenched in sweat anymore, but he looked too pale. His skin sagged like exhaustion was a physical weight pulling on him.

"How you feeling, Cas?" he asked.

"My grace is still weak and it's taking all my power to try and heal the damage from the demon blood. But... better, I think. It doesn't feel like my head will crack anymore."

Dean chuckled weakly. Castiel allowed Dean to nudge him into a sitting position so he could feel his pulse, take his temperature, look into his eyes to make sure they weren't any blacker than they should be. "You remember everything? From when you were a demon?"

There was a long silence. "Yes," he muttered.

"You really want me gone?" Dean said gently, still fussing with Cas, adjusting his clothes and the blankets, like if he was careful enough he might get pushed away, that if he touched him softly enough he might change Castiel's answer.

"No."

Dean stared at him. Castiel tilted his head, his eyes looking sad and drawn.

"I have never wanted you gone, Dean Winchester. Not once. Am I occasionally frustrated? Yes, but not because of you. I can never stay in one place for too long, or where I would like to be. I feel as though I was made to be a weapon, that I can only help by being useful in war. When I was a demon... my mind became focused, focused on the wrong things. I experienced feelings on Earth, around my involvement with you and Sam. I never questioned my purpose before raising you from perdition. Everything connected back to you, and it seemed the clear answer to my every problem was removing you. But that is not true. My problems are my own, Dean. You are not their cause, and your death is not their solution."

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded, looking down at the bed. "Okay, Cas. Okay." He looked up and smiled when he saw the way Cas was looking at him, the corner of his lips pulled up in that familiar, but rare, half-smile, eyes filled with fondness. He put his hand on top of Castiel's and gave it a gentle squeeze. "No offense, but you smell terrible. Let's get you in the shower?"

Castiel looked down at himself in confusion and sniffed the collar of his shirt, crinkling his nose up at the smell. Dean stood and offered Castiel his shoulders, helping pull him out of bed and get him balanced on his feet. Dean could tell how weak his body was, from the way his legs shook to the odd paleness of his complexion. Like it or not, he was going to get Cas cleaned, fed, and taking a nap. 

~

Sam pulled Bela back by her hair, exposing her throat as he pushed cold metal to it, just close enough for her to feel the edge of it so close to cutting her skin open.

"What are you going to do to me, Sammy? Keep me around to look at? We both know you aren't man enough to actually slit my throat. Especially not when you know there are such better options..." Bela's voice was lowered, like liquid honey, trying to get into Sam's head.

"Tell me how you captured Castiel," Sam growled, ignoring her implications and pressing the blade even closer to her throat. She tried to pull away from it, but his grip in her hair kept her held tight. He could see her throat move as she swallowed hard.

"And why should I do that?"

"Because I can make it worth your while," Sam replied. "Look around you. Decades old bunker full of artifacts, weapons, books from all over the word. Some of it has got be _priceless_. Especially to the right buyer."

"You really expect me to believe that you're just going to let me go once I tell you what you want? Exactly how thick do you think I am?"

"Oh, we're not just letting you go. Hell no. We're going to let Crowley drag you back down to hell where you belong. What you do down there? That's your business. I do understand there are some ways to go up in the rankings. Tell us about what you did to Cas, we tell Crowley to put you on guard duty instead of hanging you back on the rack."

She laughed and said nothing, staring Sam down as he waited for her to make any kind of move. "Guess we're doing this the hard way," he said, and opened a bottle of holy water with his teeth, pouring it down her chest and watching steam pour from her skin as she shrieked. 

"You don't have a lot of choices, Bela. Dirty basement for the rest of your existence, listening to us whine and poke at you for information, or answer my questions and maybe having a half-alright life for a demon."

He let go of her hair and backed up a bit, watching. He shook her hair out, spread her knees wider and made eye contact with him. "Do your worst," she purred.

~

Dean filled an old claw foot tub with hot water as Castiel sat on the closed toilet and watched him. As an after thought, he poured in a small amount of his own body wash as bubble bath, adding a light covering of foam to the surface of the water and making the room fill with the smell of sandalwood and vanilla. Once it was full, he carefully helped Castiel get lowered into the tub, offering a supportive arm around his shoulders to keep him from slipping in his weakened state.

"I'm unfamiliar with feeling this powerless," Castiel said, staring at the bubbles stuck to palms of his hands. "To need help with such simplicities."

"I know it sucks, Cas," Dean said as Cas allowed him to gently pour water over his hair and begin washing it. "But it's just temporary. You heal Sam and I when we're broken all the time. This is the same thing, only I can't do it with just a touch."

Cas turned his head in Dean's palm, pressing the side of his face into the touch. "I'm not sure that's true, Dean. Human touch is actually very necessary. It can help boost immune systems and create deep connections."

They looked at each other for a long moment, then Dean stoked the side of Cas' face with his thumb a couple of times and got back to work, rinsing suds out of his hair and lathering up a wash cloth to run down his back and arms, stopping at the places under the water. It was going to have to be good enough.

"C'mon, Cas. Out of the water." Dean again helped Castiel stand and get out of the water, wrapping a towel around his shoulders as Cas tied one around his waist. They had seen each other naked before. It happens when you sometimes share living spaces, have to access injuries, things like that. Dean focused on the fact that Cas was hurting right now. He needed help, not eyes on his ass.

Once Castiel was clothed in an old t-shirt of Dean's and Sam's pajama pants were covering him down to his toes, Dean forced Castiel to join him in the kitchen and eat something, whether he thought he needed it or not.

It was getting late, so once Castiel had eaten enough to please Dean and he looked a little more steady on his feet, Dean gently pushed him down the hall by his shoulders into his room.

"The sheets in the other rooms suck because no one's ever replaced them," Dean tells Cas. "You need to rest, so you're going to sleep in here tonight."

"I don't need to sleep, Dean," Cas said stubbornly.

"Babe, the bags under your eyes are like Prada," Dean joked. "Like it or not, your body needs rest. Lay your ass down and get a good 8 hours and you can tell me if you 'didn't need it' in the morning."

Castiel sat down on the left side of the bed, running his fingers across the soft edge of Dean's sheets. Dean walked across the room and turned the lights of, stepping out of his shoes and jeans along the way. Castiel laid down on his side, facing the wall, looking stiff and uncertain. Dean crawled under the blankets behind him, sighing and pulling the blankets out from under Cas and pulling them around him until he was covered and at least looked comfortable. He rested his hand gently on Castiel's side, legs following the same bend as Castiel's, close enough to smell the scent of his own soaps on the back of Cas' neck.

"Relax, Cas," he murmured in the dark. "It'll all be okay tomorrow."

He felt Castiel roll his shoulders and relax into the bed, further into the mattress and further into Dean's arms. Dean let his arm drape the rest of the way around Castiel's waist and fell asleep for the first time in weeks actually feeling that Castiel was going to be okay. He smiled into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are wondering why the destiel is light thus far, it's because that's how I think these two are. They know each other so well, touches and intimacy are not foreign. They don't say "I love you", they show it. I really think they are past "no homo" at this point, because they know they need each other. They don't need sex to be intimate.
> 
> ...That doesn't mean they won't have sex though. ;)


End file.
